


I found a martyr in my bed tonight

by BarricadeKitten (Dominatrix)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Also forehead kisses, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cuddling, Enjolras is insecure, Grantaire is supportive and wonderful, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self Confidence Issues, a bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 06:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2338655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominatrix/pseuds/BarricadeKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Grantaire comes home after a long day and just wants to sleep in his bed, he is surprised to find it occupied already.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I found a martyr in my bed tonight

**Author's Note:**

> My lovely kittens,  
> I took the title from "Some Nights" by Fun. It's a wonderful song, go and check it out :)  
> Love, Liz x

Grantaire groans when he flops down onto his bed, face down. He can't even be bothered to take his shoes off, but makes a half-hearted effort to get rid of them without using his hands. However, he fails gloriously.

"Oh for God's sake, fuck you then“ he mumbles, giving up and moans when he turns onto his back. His whole body hurts from Éponine's brilliant idea to get him into a better shape and the following activities which rather seemed like boot camp in the third circle of hell. At least she let him take a shower at her place before sending him back home with a sweet smile. "See you tomorrow!“ she called, pretending not to see that he flipped her off.

He just wants to sleep, and although it is tempting to just leave his clothes on he sighs and unbuttons his jeans clumsily. He is a grown-up person, and he will not sleep in his clothes like some teenager who had a couple shots of Tequila too much. Well, at least he won't do that tonight.

He has barely plucked off his shoes, wriggled himself out of his skinny jeans and yanked his shirt over his head when something on his bed stirs.

Grantaire freezes, because as far as he is concerned, his bed was blissfully empty apart from himself when he left it this morning.

"Courf?“ he asks lowly, stretching out next to the obvious silhouette of a person underneath his covers – how could he have missed that in the first place? - and patting something which he hopes is his shoulder.

"Did you fall into the wrong bed again?“ It wouldn't be the first time that Courfeyrac mistook Grantaire's bedroom for his own when he came home after a night out. However, Grantaire doesn't get an answer, so he just huffs and tugs on the blanket.

"Fine, stay here then. But at least give me a part of the covers. It's freezing, and I just wanna sleep.“ His tugging is successful, and he uncovers a head covered in curly, blonde hair, which is only barely visible in the darkness.

Okay. This is definitely not Courfeyrac.

Especially since Courfeyrac does not have Enjolras' voice.

Or his face, which looks rather shocked.

"Shit, sorry. Courf said you wouldn't be home tonight.“ His voice is drowsy, as if he had just woken up, and a part of Grantaire feels bad. But another part, and that part is significantly bigger, has _no idea_ what's going on.

"And that justifies you being in my bed?“ he mumbles lowly, trying to keep the joy about the fact that Enjolras is indeed lying in his bed out of his voice.

"We were on a...forget it. There was a reason I didn't text you. It went a bit wrong, and Courf said I could crash here.“

Grantaire frowns, reaching out to turn on the lamp on his nightstand. Enjolras hisses audibly and puts an arm in front of his eyes when the brightness blinds him. Only when his eyes have adapted to the light at least a bit he dares to take his arm down. Grantaire stares at him, blue eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

"Christ, Enjolras, are you _bleeding_?“

And suddenly, his hands are on Enjolras' head, turning his face more towards the light, examining the cut on his forehead and his split eyebrow.

"It's just a scratch, really“ he protests, trying to push away his hands half-heartedly. Grantaire just snorts bitterly.

"Yea, that's what they said about the iceberg and the Titanic. And that didn't work out so well.“

"I'm pretty sure that's not what they said“ Enjolras sighs, deciding that trying to fight Grantaire was a lost cause. He is too exhausted to fight even more. Just the idea makes him press his lips together in a thin line and turn his head away from Grantaire, who instantly lowers his hands. However, one of them stays on Enjolras' chest, and he is sure that Grantaire can feel his thundering pulse with his thumb lying at the back of his neck.

He can basically _feel_ Grantaire's concern in the air, and this is weird, because Grantaire is never concerned about anyhting. He just doesn't care enough to be concerned.

"Do you wanna talk about it? What happened, I mean?"

Enjolras thinks for a moment before he responds, mostly to keep as much pain out of his voice as possible. "Not really. I don't know. We just didn't...We didn't stand a chance.“

He really doesn't want to talk about it, because he know Grantaire will mock him – he just knows he will – and he is not ready for that. Not tonight. Not when he feels so...weak.

Grantaire surprises him when his fingertips graze Enjolras's bare skin shortly, making him flick up his gaze so their eyes meet.

"It's not your fault. Maybe there were just too many of them.“ His voice is surprisingly gentle and low, and there is the hint of a kind smile playing around his lips.

Enjolras shakes his head, begging silently that Grantaire doesn't see the threatening tears burning in his eyes. If Grantaire sees them, he doesn't say anything; just keeps on caressing Enjolras' skin over the neckline of his shirt softly, waiting for him to reply.

"What if you were right all along? What if I will fail?“ He hates that his voice is weak, and that it breaks at the end. He shouldn't _be_ like this, he should be strong, and brave, and detached.

He sucks in a sharp breath when Grantaire moves his hans up to his face, cupping his cheek, thus preventing him from turning his face away again. They are both lying on their side now, facing each other, and it is not half as awkward as it probably should be.

"You won't, okay? I'm not always right, though it hurts to admit it.“ Enjolras smiles weakly, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. Grantaire sighs, and runs his thumb over Enjolras' cheekbone absent-mindedly as he is scrambling for words.

"You won't fail, Enjolras. Believe me. Believe me when I say that I don't think you will fail. Because you convinced _me_. There is nothing and nobody in the world I believe in. Except you. You will make it. And you are not alone. I promise.“

When Enjolras smiles this time, it is genuine, and he covers Grantaire's hand with his own carefully, watching the other man's eyes widen.

"Thank you“ he mumbles, barely concealing the yawn that follows.

Grantaire chuckles lowly. "How about I let you stay here, and you get a full night of sleep? And tomorrow I'll patch you up again so you can go back to changing the world?“

Enjolras smiles sleepily, and keeping his eyes open seems like a task which is incredibly hard to accomplish now. "Sounds like a good plan to me.“

Grantaire smiles at him, giving his cheek a last stroke before he pulls away reluctantly to turn off the light. When the room is covered in darkness again, he leans over to Enjolras and kisses his forehead carefully.

"Goodnight, Enjolras“ he mutters, closing his eyes. A light touch at his hand makes him startle and flinch. His eyes fly open and he can only barely make out Enjolras' face and downcast gaze. „Sorry, I...Sorry.“

Grantaire just searches for Enjolras' hand in the darkness, wrapping his own fingers around it and pulling it to his lips in a short moment of irrational courage.

"No, it's okay. You just surprised me. It's alright.“ And it really is, strangely so, when Enjolras moves a bit closer, until his head is effectively buried at the crook of Grantaire's neck.

"Can I stay like this?“ he asks, and his voice is so tiny and desperate that Grantaire can't help but fling an arm around his shoulders and bury his face in Enjolras' hair.

"Yes. Of course. Whatever you need.“

He thinks he hears Enjolras whisper "I just need you“ into his skin, but he is not sure.

 


End file.
